


Spearmint Witch

by NathanielCardeu



Series: The Malfoy Manor Fic War [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Language, Exploitation, F/M, Unresolved Sexual Tension, sauciness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 09:59:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NathanielCardeu/pseuds/NathanielCardeu
Summary: Scorpius Malfoy wants nothing more than for Hermione Granger to dance for him.





	Spearmint Witch

**Author's Note:**

> Another one from the Malfoy Manor Fic War.
> 
> The prompt was the verse transcribed in the story, from Hysteria, by Muse. If you fancy it, start playing the song when the music starts in the story; depending on your reading speed it might just match up, and either way, it's an awesome song and hearing it adds a little something to the fic.
> 
> Enjoy!

Draco Malfoy checked up and down the long, wood-lined corridor. The floors were bright marble, reflecting the lamps that hung at regular intervals, along the passageway. Seeing the coast was clear he tapped the door handle with his wand.

 

“ _Alohomora,"_  he whispered, smiling slightly as he remembered the first time he had used that spell, in his first year at Hogwarts, nearly thirty two years ago now. The door clicked and swung open revealing the opulent office of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Draco ignored the name plate on the door, other than to give it a little tap with his knuckle. Carefully he closed the door behind him and paused, studying the office.

 

Papers were scattered on the desk and on the floor to either side. There was a large, blackened area on the desk; the veneer was irrevocably burnt in a rough circle, about the size of a dinner plate. Soot marks radiated out from it but there was no evidence of what had exploded or been set on fire. The large, comfortable, leather chair behind the desk had been knocked back and was lying on the floor. The two smaller chairs in front also lay as if pushed over in a hurry, though maybe that had been caused by the explosion. The pot of quills, normally so carefully arranged, now lay on the plush, burgundy carpet. One had ink, still fresh and wet, on the tip and it had left a black smear on the expensive floor covering.

 

Draco took this all in quietly. A small smile creased his lips, almost a smirk, as he stepped deeper into the office. His eyes scanned the room for something and, seemingly not finding it, gave a snort of laughter. Moving deeper into the office, he headed for the door in the far wall. Behind it he could hear running water, the sound of a shower at full bore. Gently he pushed open the door to see the room within.

 

Like the office the smaller room was richly appointed, as befitted a person of such high importance. The shower, operating at high pressure, was central to the door. A pile of clothes, hastily discarded, lay to the side. The water did not give off steam and the glass of the cubicle was clear of any fogging. Draco watched impassively, his arms folded, leaning against the door frame, as the man in the shower let the cold water pour over his naked body. From feet to shoulders the man was well built with broad shoulders and clear muscle definition. His head was down, letting the water douse him, the strength of the shower battering his neck and shoulders.

 

He was visibly shaking and Draco could hear him muttering, over the sound of the water. The young man sounded upset and angry, with himself or someone else couldn’t be determined but Draco had a vague idea of what had happened.

 

He gave a cough and the man in the shower looked around, seemingly unsurprised to see the older, blond wizard in the doorway. Scorpius Malfoy looked through his soaked, platinum blond hair, so like his father’s, a wry, almost ashamed smile on his face, as he shivered uncontrollably from the cold.

 

He started to speak but the words caught in his throat as his body trembled. Instead he gave a shrug, his eyes conveying so many different emotions and Draco laughed ruefully. Shaking his head the older wizard turned away, walking back into the office, leaving his son to his shower.

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Scorpius Malfoy liked his office. Granted, he knew it had been almost bought for him, through his father’s and grandfather’s influence in the Wizarding world, but he didn’t care all that much. He was the newly appointed Head of Magical Law Enforcement, just turned 18, almost fresh out of Hogwarts! Many toes had been stepped on but he knew he could handle the job and, in time, when he had finished lording it over his minions, he would prove it to everyone.

 

He leant back in his chair, waiting for his two o’clock appointment; another visit from the delightfully pretty but, at the same time, somehow dowdy, Hermione Granger. The older witch continued to petition him for his assistance in some matter relating to the rights of lesser humanoids or some such. Apparently he could help because of his position. Scorpius didn’t really understand the mechanics of it. He only thought about _Hermione_ when she was talking to him, rather than what she was talking _about_. It’s like his brain just sort of… tuned out.

 

He wasn’t sure how she could be so pretty, so beautiful, have such sparkling and expressive eyes, perfect cheeks and lips he just wanted to suck on… all that and yet dress so plain and be so… so… asexual! To his young mind she was the epitome of teenage fantasy: Hermione Granger, Heroine of the War, vibrant and still very much desirable at 43. Yet she dressed so plain and, seemingly, had no interest or knowledge that half the Ministry of Magic fantasised about her.

 

Scorpius dreamt of her very often and had even gone as far as inviting her out for drinks after work. His father had warned him to stay away from her but was vague on the specifics of why not. Not that it mattered; Hermione had turned him down flat, in front of a lot of his friends, crushing his spirit and raising his ire with so very few words. The condescension he had heard in her voice had angered him and he had plotted revenge on Miss Hermione Granger, the woman with no sex drive, the woman that would probably die if commanded to do something overtly flirtatious.

 

He had had a plan. Hermione would be humiliated in public for embarrassing him and he had longed to see her eyes as she tried to find a way out. Then, when she accepted that she was unable to escape his trap, he would have her, in every sense of the word, all to himself.

 

Shifting in his chair he pulled at his crotch, repositioning his trousers where the material had constricted around his groin. He couldn’t think of Hermione without becoming aroused.

 

It hadn’t quite gone like that though in the end. His patience had snapped and he couldn’t wait any longer. In their last meeting he had offered her a way forward with her petition; dance for him and he would sign.

 

The shock in her eyes had been everything he had hoped for; her standing up and leaving the office without another word, not so much. It had been four days with no word from her, until he received a formal message asking him to “reconsider his position” and meet her at two o’clock today. He had been vague with his reply but had agreed to meet her to discuss the matter further.

 

To tell the truth he could only hope that Hermione would cave to his demands. He desperately wanted to see that witch dance for him. The anticipation had been agony; every minute since he arrived this morning had seemed to last an aeon. He wanted to see her, to finally know what would happen. Just imagining her naked and begging for him was twisting him in knots.

 

The knock at the door made him jump, like a guilty teenager caught pleasuring himself. He banged his knee on the underside of the desk, spilling his glass of water. With a curse he snatched up his wand, rubbing his leg with his other hand. “Son of a… _Tergeo!_ ” he snapped, drawing the liquid back into the glass as he tipped it upright.

 

Carefully he smoothed his lapels, tucked his wand next his piles of paperwork and settled himself in his chair once more.

 

“Enter,” he called, in his ‘stern’ voice; the one he had been practicing in the mirror so he sounded authoritarian. He had modelled the voice on his grandfather – cold and aloof with the right level of disdain.

 

The door opened and his P.A walked in. Black high heels, bare legs, a skirt with a slit up the side that showed her long toned legs, close fitting, white blouse with the top buttons undone, exposing an almost obscene amount of cleavage… there were _so_ many perks to this job, Scorpius thought, as he watched Brandine walk towards him. The way she fixed her big blue eyes on his darker ones, a challenge and an offer obvious to see, made his throat close up on him. Her long blonde hair was flicked over one shoulder, exposing her tanned, luscious neck.

 

Merlin, he’d like the chance to destroy that nubile, 17 year old body of hers! All it would take was a word and she would be on his cock like a Niffler on a diamond ring. He also knew, however, that she would then have a hold on him, a threat of sexual harassment and he wasn’t willing to risk that for an assistant. It was frustrating but he could always fire her later, pay her off and then fuck her senseless, before the ink on the parchment was even dry.

 

For now though he kept his thoughts as clear as possible as Brandine did her best to fuck him with her eyes.

 

“Miss Granger is here to see you, Mister Malfoy,” she said, her mouth caressing his name.

 

“Thank you, Brandine,” he said, sounding bored, “send her in.”

 

As she turned to leave she pouted, in a way that should have had him begging for a taste of her mouth, but Hermione had, at that moment, stepped into the room.

 

She was as beautiful as ever but dressed in her usual, bland work robes. Scorpius held his face still but couldn’t help but feel disappointed in the older witch. She carried a strange box under her arm, a black smooth square with strange buttons on the front. On the left and the right sides were silver circles, one above the other, the uppermost slightly smaller.

 

Hermione stood by the door until Brandine had left; a knowing, almost disapproving look was in the older witch’s eyes as she watched her go. The P.A swept out of the office with her nose in the air. Her heels had barely cleared the threshold when the door slammed shut, Hermione’s wand out and pointing at the handle.

 

Scorpius swallowed as the lock clicked loudly. Hermione looked angry but the younger man maintained his slightly bored expression, with difficulty. “Miss Granger, so nice to see you again. Have you thought about my… position?” His voice was even but held a slight edge of sarcasm.

 

“No, Mister Malfoy,” Hermione said, sternly, stalking towards the desk and placing the box down. “It is not nice to see me again.” Her wand swept around and Scorpius heard a strange buzzing noise in his ears that rapidly faded into the background. “Now that we are in private I think we need to have a talk about what you expect from me.”

 

Her voice was so authoritative, so like his grandfather’s tone, that Scorpius, for a moment, could only gape and stammer. All feeling of power had left him, leeched away by Hermione’s beauty and dominating presence. She had snatched away his control and he struggled to recover from it.

 

“Well, I think I made my desires clear, you dance for me or there’s no deal,” he said, stammering only a little as she fixed him with eyes that blazed, not with anger, but with lust and desire. He could barely speak. He was being undressed by Hermione Granger’s eyes. His mind gave up and stopped forming coherent speech there and then.

 

“You have no idea,” she purred, “what it means to play with fire, Malfoy.” She tapped her wand on the box and it gave a click and a whirr, magic powering what Scorpius now recognised as a Muggle device.

 

Sound burst from the plastic box, a low, bouncing bass, full of distortion and menace. The bass line filled the office, loud and dangerous, rising and falling.

 

Hermione turned away from the young man as a slow drum beat kicked in, accompanied by a dirty guitar. The rapid, fluid sound of the guitar climbed through the scales as Hermione slipped the plain robes from her shoulders. Beneath it her shoulders were bare – her creamy flesh, smooth and unblemished. As the robe dropped lower and the guitar climbed higher, Scorpius watched Hermione’s hair magically straighten itself till it flowed like water.

 

Her arms were revealed as the robes descended, clad in off cuts of a blouse, covering only from her bicep to just below her elbow. A black, pinstripe bodice, devoid of arms and leaving her midriff exposed, covered her torso. As the guitar reached its crescendo, the robe was flung away. The drum kicked in faster, the guitar squalled in bursts of distorted melody as Hermione spun, her hair swirling, to face a stunned Scorpius Malfoy.

 

In full view now Scorpius could see the extremely short skirt that covered her waist and little else, a large slit running from hem to waist on one side so that Malfoy could see the entirety of one, perfect leg. Black stockings hugged those beautiful legs and high heel shoes covered her feet. Scorpius’ gaze was drawn upwards as Hermione rotated her hips slowly, dancing sensuously in time with the music, her eyes closed and her face tilted upwards. Her hands drifted up her body to where the bodice split open at the top, revealing an expanse of cleavage that would make Brandine jealous. Hermione’s breasts strained to escape the material as she stroked her palms across them and down her body again.

 

Scorpius sat, mute and bewildered as the music box began to sing, accompanying dowdy and boring Miss Granger’s sensual dance. The singers voice, falsetto and filled with pain and torment, cried tortured words of need and desire, as Hermione stepped in towards the young wizard, nudging him away from his desk and rubbing herself against his leg.

 

_“It’s bugging me, grating me,_

_And twisting me around_

_Yeah I’m endlessly, caving in_

_And turning inside out.”_

 

The sexually charged witch straddled Scorpius, her hand behind his head as she ground her crotch over his leg, her mouth parted slightly, her tongue ghosting over her lips as her eyes locked onto his. The singer begged for someone’s heart and soul as Hermione’s free hand caressed Malfoy’s chest, stroking up to cup his cheek as she pressed her breasts to his mouth. His hands seemed glued to the arms of his chair, though he wasn’t sure if it was by magic or paralysis.

 

As his face dipped into her cleavage, Malfoy lost the ability to breath as his nose was filled with Hermione’s perfume, along with the scent of mint and fresh sweat. Beneath Hermione’s leg he was solid, cock straining for release as this Goddess, dressed in next to nothing, rubbed her pussy over his leg. Over the sound of the Muggle music box, Scorpius could hear Hermione moan in pleasure as she ground herself against his erection, his trousers taut against it. Her nails scratched lightly down his chest until she abruptly pushed away from him.

 

His moan of dismay elicited a slight smile from the tempestuous witch as she spun around, presenting her backside to him. With her legs apart she bent almost double, one hand gripping her ankle, as the singer began his second verse. Hermione’s head spun in time with the music, flicking her hair as she rubbed one hand up the outside of her thigh. It skated over her arse, lifting her skirt to give Scorpius one, brief glimpse of her bare buttock before the material snatched it from view.

 

As the song reached the chorus a second time the stunning witch slapped her hand across her buttock, turning again and placing one shapely leg on the arm of Scorpius’s chair. Her shoe trapped his hand, pressing it into the wood but he barely noticed, drawn as his eyes were to the familiar, tightly rolled scroll that contained Hermione’s petition to the Minister. She slipped it from between her breasts, her head lolling back. Dropping it in his lap and stepping back, she leant against the desk and ran her hands up to cup her breasts, her fingers deftly undoing one button and allowing Scorpius a better view. She opened her legs wide, shifting her skirt so that the slit revealed her lack of underwear.

 

“Sign it,” she mouthed, her eyes promising him more delights, her fingers toying with her skirt as if they ached to slip beneath. The music box said this was the last chance to lose control and Scorpius numbly agreed with it. Hermione leant forward, hands on his, brushing her lips over his ear. “Who knows where this could lead,” she whispered, before swiping her tongue firmly over the lobe and then biting it.

 

Unable to stop himself, his every fantasy coming to life right before him, Scorpius lunged, awkwardly, out of his seat, Hermione pivoting smoothly out of his way. She landed in his chair, her legs spread to drape over the arms as the eager young man scrabbled for his quills. He knocked the container from the desk in his haste but snagged a feather. Plunging it into the ink he dragged the scroll open and ground his name into the parchment. Instantly it folded itself up and flew off the desk, slipping under the door and away.

 

Scorpius spun around just as Hermione grabbed his collar and smashed her mouth onto his, her slick and hot body pressing against his straining groin. He fancied that he could feel the heat of her pussy through the material, that she was wet and eager, desperate for him. As the guitar screeched through a rapid, staccato solo, the blonde wizard felt his shirt get ripped open and the beautiful witch’s hands caress his taut body. Their tongues met and fought, Hermione’s taking control: Scorpius just tried to hang on and not lose his load, whilst his cock was still in his pants.

 

The stunning witch dragged fingernails over the front of his trousers, making him gasp and moan into her mouth. Her teeth gripped his lip, even as her hand took a firm hold of his cock through the material.

 

As the solo slowed, becoming a little more sensual, Hermione spun him round and shoved him into his chair again. His belt came off as he fell, though he had no idea when she had undone it. His balls were so tight he knew that it would last mere moments, when he finally got to plunge into her hot, wet folds. Her hands gripped his waist band, ripping the button and yanking them down around his ankles.

 

Her tongue skated across his bare thigh, her hands gripping his and holding them on the arms of the chair once more. Hermione’s mouth ghosted over the silk of his boxers, ever so gently touching his rigid shaft and making him twitch. She ran her tongue onwards, up his chest till she bit the side of his neck. She moved her hands, cupping his face and kissing him softly, almost tenderly.

 

“I want you now, I want you now,” the singer sang desperately, seemingly as strained as Malfoy, as the song built to its climax. Hermione, her mouth still on his, gripped the boxer shorts and ripped them open, her hand immediately snaking in to grip Scorpius’ rigid cock. She held it at the base, squeezing it firmly and holding it steady. She dragged her crotch along the young wizard’s leg and he felt her wetness; a violent need to fuck her took over his body.

 

As he tried to move she twisted his shaft, painfully enough to make him cry out and settle back down. As the guitar and bass joined together, performing the outro, Hermione met his eyes and there was laughter in them as well as triumph. Planting a kiss on his nose she stood back, lifted a foot and shoved the back of Scorpius’ chair, causing it to topple backwards. The blond man, caught by surprise, his legs still caught in his trousers, went with it.

 

He hit the floor hard and rolled, barely able to work out where he was. From his prone position he saw Hermione striding away from him, her old, dull robes slung casually over one shoulder, each step in time with the song.

 

“Your father learned, long before you were born,” she called, as she reached the door. She opened it and turned back one last time. “Do not mess with me, Malfoy. You will not win!”

 

The door slammed behind her, just as the song ended. The Muggle music box exploded at that moment, scattering shards of black plastic around the room.

 

Scorpius lay, stunned and unable to think straight. His cock was rigid, his balls aching. He was ready to explode and she had just left him lying there. He had been played and, like an eager, immature idiot, he had fallen for it.

 

But Merlin’s fucking hairy balls, that witch had a body!

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

 

Draco sat across from Scorpius who was fresh from his shower and fully clothed once more. The older wizard was relaxed, lounging lazily as he held a glass of brandy in his palm.

 

“So,” he said, “she got her way. Again.” It was not a question. There was no hint of annoyance or disapproval in his voice, nothing to indicate his feelings. His son had told him the story in full, leaving out nothing, though Draco could see how painful it was to relive the humiliation.

 

“Yes, sir,” the younger man said, sullenly. “She danced for me, like I demanded… but, somehow, I still feel like I lost. I guess I messed up here, didn’t I?” He was leant forward, arms on his knees, gazing at the floor and unable to meet his father’s eyes.

 

“Not at all, Scorpius,” Draco drawled, leaning forward to set his brandy on the glass table top. “She has got her motion to put forward, but there are many hurdles for her to jump through to get House Elves the rights she is demanding for them. This is not the end of this battle.”

 

Draco stood, cuffing his son lightly about the head. “Don’t worry about it, son. The bitch frustrates every man’s peace of mind, at one time or another.” He walked to the door but paused before stepping through, as if something had occurred to him. “Tell me again what she said, just before she left.”

 

Scorpius looked up, confused. Thinking back he struggled to find the right words. “She said ‘Your father learned, long before you were born. Do not mess with me, Malfoy. You will not win!’”

 

Draco tilted his head, a strange look on his face and his gaze far away.

 

“What is it, father? What did she do to you?”

 

Draco shook his head, dismissing the question. “It's a strange thing,” he muttered, meeting Scorpius’ eyes, “but she said exactly the same thing to me, about twenty two years ago.”

**Author's Note:**

> This little fic actually went on to spawn another series at the request of several readers. They were so intrigued with Draco's comment at the end that I continued the theme and gradually built another series. Two of those stories appeared in the Malfoy Manor Fic War, the others were written separately. Once I've looked them over they may appear here too.


End file.
